The handheld holoprojector hummed softly, casting a pale light over Visenya's face. She crouched in the corner of Kiffex Drift's town hall, lens focused and recording. Her hood shadowed her features, but her eyes were sharp, attentive, cataloging every gesture, every inflection. Across the table, General Dagon Marek and Orliss Gillmunn spoke in low tones, their words meant for posterity as much as for clarity.
"Alto Stratus and his remaining loyalists will face justice," Dagon said, voice steady, measured. "The tribunal will convene on Coruscant. Republic law, Galactic oversight—whatever your people require. But the trial will be fair."
Orliss's gaze lingered on the holoprojection of the prisoners, the binds on their wrists and ankles stark against the pale duracrete of the brig cells. "I want the people of Shoal to see justice. To know the Republic is not some distant overseer. That their suffering mattered. That those who killed their families answer for it."
Dagon inclined his head. "Agreed. But the Republic will preside. You and your people will advise, you will witness, and you will participate—but the sentence must reflect law, not vengeance. That's the only way forward."
Orliss's hands tightened briefly over the edge of the table. "And the flag." He paused, tone almost reverent. "When we raise it over Shoal, I want it to be the Republic's. To remind them that freedom returns. That the Republic stands with the people, not just offworlders."
Dagon leaned back, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "It's your city. You decide what flies. If your people want a Republic standard, raise it. If you want your own banners, your own symbol, that's yours too. I won't dictate it."
A subtle weight lifted in Orliss's posture. Relief mingled with pride. "Then it will be our choice."
Visenya's camera caught the subtle exchange, recording the nods, the unspoken agreements. This was the moment—the city reclaimed by its people, the final act of autonomy in a long and bloody campaign.
Dagon's gaze flicked toward the door, toward the Juggernauts waiting outside, engines idling in the mist. "We secure the settlements, we stabilize the population, and then we move forward. Your people lead the way. You've earned that much."
Orliss exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. "I… I understand. Thank you, General. For everything."
Dagon gave a faint nod, eyes distant, reflecting both exhaustion and the lingering shadow of the dark side still coiled in his chest. "Just remember, Orliss—victory is measured not by the flags you raise, but by the lives you preserve."
Outside, the rain had thinned to a drizzle, the distant fires of destroyed Separatist hulks cooling in the twilight. Shoal waited. Its streets, its civilians, its history—they were ready to reclaim what had been lost. And the choice of what flag to raise, for once, belonged entirely to them.
Visenya ended the recording, the holoprojector clicking off with a soft whine. She tucked it into her satchel and rose, blending into the shadowed corridor as Dagon and Orliss finalized plans.
A city's freedom, a people's choice, a banner not imposed, but earned.
And somewhere in the silence, the dark side watched, patient, waiting—but not today.